85 - Crazy! Criticizing the Prime Minister for Being a Servant

### Chapter 85: Beyond the Realm Ning Song Wu felt a haze clouding her mind, the alcohol amplifying every emotion and frustration within her. A part of her wanted to smash the table and throw stools around, but her rational mind fought to maintain control. She knelt on the floor, her eyes stinging from the drink, her heart so unsettled that she couldn't comprehend what she was doing. The duration was indeterminate before the door opened once more. Jing Hu had returned, holding a bowl of sobering soup. He saw Ning Song Wu sitting on the floor with her eyes closed and hurried over to support her shoulders. "Ning Song Wu, Ning Song Wu, wake up." Her head spun incessantly, unable to discern who was there. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Jing Hu's waist, burying her face in his shoulder, softly weeping. "Why... why don't they want me... why..." Her voice was frail, like a tender willow swaying in the wind, tinged with a heart-wrenching sob. Jing Hu’s face flushed deeply, as he gently placed his hand on Ning Song Wu's shoulder. "Ning Song Wu, what are you talking about? Who doesn't want you?" Ning Song Wu gave no answer, only clung to him crying ever more sorrowfully. Everyone had abandoned her. Her parents had forsaken her, leaving her in a desolate wilderness; the one who gave her candied hawthorn had turned away indifferently, not sparing her a glance; her master... her master too had said not to approach her anymore... Jing Hu gently pushed her away just enough to feed her the sobering soup, coaxing softly, "Here, have some sobering soup. Rest, and it will be alright." She drank half the bowl along its rim, mumbling, "I don't want to sleep... I want... to carry the lantern..." Jing Hu chuckled indulgently, feeling an overwhelming tenderness toward this enchanting woman. "Alright, I'll take you to carry the lantern." Ning Song Wu avertedly drank a bit more of the soup and drifted off to sleep. He carefully carried her to the main hall. Everyone had gathered in the courtyard of the Withering Glory Pavilion, filled with firecrackers and fireworks, each person holding a red lantern. Jiang Yue held Jiang Mang on his shoulders, while Cheng Yun Huan and Ran Fan Yin stood nearby, looking somber. Luo Sheng and the younger ones were bustling around with fireworks, making the whole courtyard lively. Cheng Yun Huan glanced at Ran Fan Yin, saying, "Ran Fan Yin, you don't look well. If you're tired, go rest." "No, I'm not tired," She replied, pressing her reddened lips together, avoiding his gaze. "...A disciple grows up, and you can see the differences," Cheng Yun Huan suddenly commented. "Hmm?" "..." Cheng Yun Huan remained silent, just watching the entrance of the courtyard. Following his gaze, Run Fan Yin saw a tall, handsome man carrying a delicate, beautiful woman in his embrace. From afar, they looked perfectly matched. In all the Northern Punishment, there was rarely such a fitting pair. Ran Fan Yin quickly averted her eyes. Her hand, hidden in her wide sleeve, unconsciously curled tighter. Why did it feel like something precious to her was being invaded? Cheng Yun Huan chuckled softly, "Jing Hu has always liked Ning Song Wu. Regardless of their age, status, appearance, or learning, they are perfectly suited." Ran Fan Yin forced a strained smile. "...Yes." "Jing Hu has mentioned several times his wish to marry Ning Song Wu. Considering we're from the same sect, if our disciples come together, wouldn't it be adding kin to kin? Though, I'm uncertain if that saying fits here. But Ran Fan Yin, if Ning Song Wu has the same intention, could you bear for her to marry into our sect?" Ran Fan Yin cast a wistful glance at Ning Song Wu nestled in Jing Hu's arms, her gaze settling on the boisterous children. Her voice, airy and soft, echoed, "And if I say, I cannot bear it?" Cheng Yun Huan smiled gently again, "A disciple grown, there's little a master can do to hold her back." He Lan Mian Mian ran with Cen Ran and Luo Sheng to cover their ears as they dashed back into the crowd, shouting joyfully. Firecrackers and fireworks erupted simultaneously, their loud bangs merging with colorful displays like a vibrant festival, extraordinarily lively. Ning Song Wu lay asleep. In this moment of celebration, she wasn't held by the one she cherished. Ran Fan Yin stood merely five steps away, yet couldn't muster the courage to look at her. He Lan Mian Mian, filled with joy, took a quick look around, ensuring no one was watching. Sneakily, she pulled Cen Ran down, pecking her lips before resting her forehead against Cen Ran’s, playfully saying, "Sister Cen Ran, they say wishes come true under fireworks." Cen Ran pinched He Lan Mian Mian's cheek, smiling tenderly, "You've got quite the nerve for a child, believing such nonsense." “I’m not a child!” Her face stretched in protest, “Anyway, I'm making a wish. I want you to marry me someday. Or maybe, dress as a man, and come back to the royal city as my consort." "You're making things up again," Cen Ran laughed, playfully nudging her forehead. "Sister Cen Ran, you must make a wish too, and it has to be that we'll grow old together!" "No, I won’t," Cen Ran chuckled dismissively. He Lan Mian Mian's face scrunched with mock distress, her voice melodramatically thick with pretend sobs. “Say it, please!” “Nope.” Her brows furrowed tightly as He Lan Mian Mian turned away, feigning frustration. Cen Ran chuckled softly, silently guiding her hand, writing softly upon it— _Take my hand, and grow old together._ He Lan Mian Mian's smile deepened, dimples forming as she met Cen Ran's gentle gaze, lifting their intertwined hands to her lips, covering them with tiny, gentle kisses. The fireworks continued their ascent, and as time passed, no one felt weary, losing themselves in the rare and exquisite display. Ning Song Wu slowly awoke, realizing she had been resting in Jing Hu's embrace all along, and she jolted with surprise. Jing Hu looked down slightly, his smile warm. "Ning Song Wu? Awake? Just in time, look at the sky." Quickly, she withdrew from his hold, hastily adjusting her garments as her eyes searched for Ran Fan Yin. She found Ran Fan Yin not far, standing calmly, her head slightly lifted to the sky, her profile graceful yet carrying an air of chilling distance. Her hand tightly clutched the lantern's handle, the knuckles white against her strained grip. Biting her lip, Ning Song Wu ignored Jing Hu’s watchful eyes, slowly advancing toward Ran Fan Yin. "Master... Master..." She silently mouthed the words repeatedly, unable to voice them aloud. Ran Fan Yin sensed her gaze but did not dare turn to face Ning Song Wu. So close, yet so distant. She could not. Ning Song Wu’s eyes remained fixed on her master, while Ran Fan Yin stood stalwart, gazing skyward as the fireworks gradually faded into darkness. As they ended, Ran Fan Yin lowered her head, silently walking away with her lantern. When she brushed past Ning Song Wu, Ning Song Wu reached out, catching her hand. Ran Fan Yin frowned slightly. A bitter smile crossed Ning Song Wu's lips, acknowledging irrevocable change. She withdrew a prepared paper bag, placing it into Ran Fan Yin’s hand without a word, then turned and departed, her heart wrenched as if torn apart. Ran Fan Yin grasped the paper bag, choosing not to open it in front of everyone, carrying it back to her quarters. Alone, with trembling fingers, she opened it. Inside was an entire bag of candied and dried fruits. Alongside, lay a single stick of candied hawthorn. How many in this world knew her penchant for sweets? How many cared so thoughtfully for her? Ran Fan Yin felt a sting in her eyes, a rare urge to weep tightening her chest after over a hundred years. As the New Year passed, everything seemed to return to calm. Ning Song Wu and He Lan Mian Mian returned to the Hongfei Pavilion, and Cheng Yun Huan and Jiang Yue took their disciples back to their respective domains. Luo Sheng was promptly sent on a mission downhill, and once again, the Withering Glory Pavilion turned cold and quiet, all traces of the festival meticulously erased by the servants. Three months remained until the Sword Trials. Held every decade, the Northern Punishment Sword Trials required participation from all disciples. Grouped into various teams, they competed, with victors regrouping to challenge once more in a repetitive cycle. The ultimate winner might be chosen as a disciple by one of the three esteemed masters. Luo Sheng had been the previous victor, becoming Ran Fan Yin’s disciple. Throughout the Trials, the sect leader and the three elders would preside, observing the event from the high platform. Approximately a thousand disciples from the Northern Punishment participated, culminating in a month-long event renowned as a grand celebration. Allies from Mount Hua, Mount Kunlun, and Mount Shu routinely attended, solidifying the trials’ reputation across the martial world. Yet, the sword intended for Ning Song Wu, seven years in the making, remained unfinished. Ran Fan Yin aspired to present the sword before the trials, even though Ning Song Wu already belonged to her disciples. Beyond the competition to join the three elders' ranks, the trials served as a platform for showcasing skill amongst peers and personal growth. But the sword remained elusive. Thus, post-festival, Ran Fan Yin visited the forge for the first time. With ease, Ran Fan Yin pushed open the heavy stone door of the forge. Just as she expected, Jiang Yue stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the sword pool. Hearing her arrival, he turned and smiled warmly, “Ran Fan Yin, you’re here.” “Senior Brother, about the sword…” “You’re straight to the point, coming in and immediately asking about your sword.” Jiang Yue shook his head helplessly. “I have two pieces of news for you. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” “Whichever you prefer,” Ran Fan Yin replied calmly. “You are truly boring sometimes. Fine then, the good news is that the smelting is complete, all impurities have settled. We’re ready for the third step—casting.” “The smelting is finally done.” Ran Fan Yin felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her heart. “The remaining steps of sword forging, like shaping and decorating, aren’t too significant. But now, we’ve hit a snag with the casting process.” “What’s the issue?” “You see, I’ve already poured the molten substance into the mold you prepared. Once it solidifies, everything should be complete, but right now, it won’t solidify.” Jiang Yue frowned at the mold, already filled with molten metal. Ran Fan Yin walked to the mold, her brows knitting together. “Why is that?” “This sword is unusual, made from a material that is spiritually attuned, not ordinary dead iron,” Jiang Yue explained, coming closer and gently touching the clay mold’s perimeter with his left hand, which lacked a little finger. “It requires a sacrifice.” “A sacrifice?” “…Ran Fan Yin, have you ever heard of sword sacrifice?” After a lengthy silence, she slowly replied, “I’m aware. Some swords require a blood sacrifice to be forged, gaining significant spiritual power, far surpassing mundane iron. Thus, ancient texts record that in ancient times, swordsmiths would capture children, casting them alive into the pool, using pure child’s blood as a sacrifice… Senior Brother, you don’t mean…” Jiang Yue shook his head. “No, this sword is not cursed in such a way; it doesn’t require sacrificing children. But… it does require human blood to truly solidify into a divine weapon.” Ran Fan Yin quietly considered the unsolidified sword within the mold for a long while, before seemingly making a decision. She looked at Jiang Yue. “Can my blood be used?” Jiang Yue raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Ran Fan Yin… You… well, yes, it’s possible, but if your blood merges with it, the sword will recognize your blood’s aura. Only someone sharing your blood could wield it to its fullest potential. What’s the point of sacrificing your blood?” She smiled softly. “It’s alright. Ning Song Wu wears a pendant infused with my blood.” “Think carefully. The process of sacrificing the sword requires the sword to consume not just your blood, but your cultivation as well, you…” “If it takes my cultivation, won’t it become even stronger?” Ran Fan Yin rolled up her left sleeve, revealing a dark red scar from a previous burn, “As long as this sword is forged to be exceptional, that’s enough.” Jiang Yue gazed at her for a long moment, then sighed deeply, reluctantly offering her a dagger. “Be careful. I’ll tell you when it’s enough.” Ran Fan Yin took the dagger, cutting deeply into the dark red scar without blinking. Crimson blood flowed immediately, spiraling down her wrist like a tiny snake, slowly dripping into the sword mold. Ran Fan Yin bit her lip tightly. Seeing her cut her wrist, Jiang Yue regretted it instantly. Ran Fan Yin’s body had already been gravely weakened seven years ago, barely recuperated from the residual toxins with years of effort. And now, she was engaging in this sacrificial act. If mishandled, not only would she lose cultivation, her life span might also… In ancient times, to sacrifice for one sword, so many children were offered. Although this sword wasn’t as malevolent, the required blood might be no less. Jiang Yue watched the mold, eyeing the gradually reddening molten metal with a strange hue, afraid that she might give more blood than needed. The wrist is a sensitive area; otherwise, why would people choose it for suicide? Now, she seemed akin to those who tried it. She expected to give much blood, thus the wound was deep, exuding a thick scent of iron. The searing pain shot from her wrist to her brain. Her arm trembled from blood loss, her face alarmingly pale. “Ah…” Ran Fan Yin doubled over, her right hand bracing against the table, but her left hand continued to hover over the mold. “Ran Fan Yin!” Jiang Yue’s expression filled with anxiety. He hesitated, uncertain whether to stop or encourage her. If she stopped now, all that lost blood would be in vain. Yet, if she continued, her body… Ran Fan Yin sensed her internal energy draining toward her left wrist, pouring through the wound into the mold. It felt like an abyss, greedily consuming her pure energy. “Senior Brother…” Ran Fan Yin’s voice trembled as she called out. “Yes, just hold on a little longer. It’ll be over soon, very soon…” Jiang Yue reassured quickly. “Senior Brother…” Closing her eyes, her forehead glistened with sweat, “Help me.” Supporting her arm, Jiang Yue watched as her blood dyed the entire hand red, feeling deeply sorry. “Ran Fan Yin, stop it, don’t continue, give up, you can’t endure this!” “I can…” Jiang Yue began to pull her away. “No, if you go on, you’ll be severely injured. Give up, give up, we can scrap this sword, I’ll forge you another.” Ran Fan Yin felt him pulling her away from the mold, and with what little energy remained, she shoved him away a few feet, creating a protective barrier of energy around herself. Her face, ghostly pale from the blood loss, looked as if she might faint at any moment. Jiang Yue couldn’t approach, his face contorted with concern. “Ran Fan Yin, have you lost your mind? Is a sword worth your life? Stop, stop! You’ll sacrifice yourself this way! It’s enough, it’s solidified!” Ran Fan Yin struggled to open her eyes, vaguely seeing the mold, like a pool of blood before her, she could only see red. “Senior Brother…” “Yes, yes, I’m not lying to you.” “Senior Brother… help me…” Suddenly, her protective energy dispersed entirely, and she collapsed from the tremendous loss of vital energy and blood. Catching her swiftly, Jiang Yue scooped her up without hesitation, rushing to the herbal medicine hall. “Elder… you better be in the medicine hall…” he murmured softly, barely pausing to glance at Ran Fan Yin’s alabaster face as he sprinted.